Snow
by Runawaymetaphor
Summary: Tom had never been a fan of winter. It was too cold, too unforgiving.


Snow

As the day-old powder crunched under his feet, he craned his head to look up at the house. It had been easy to find, though it had helped that he'd been there once before.

The previous time had been only a little over one year ago, but it seemed to him that it may as well have been twenty, his life having since morphed into something he didn't recognize. Something that seemed not to belong to him anymore.

He looked around as he walked. The fence he passed earlier- wood, not electronic- defined the boundaries of the property. The house was still fifty meters ahead.

Stopping, he let out a heavy sigh. His breath came out in misty puffs.

Coming here had been a lark, a sudden impulse. Still, it had been a single-minded drive that had sustained him until now, his objective within his sights.

He turned away.

Why had he come here? Why had he sought her out without a second thought?

They'd barely spoken since they returned to Earth. His longest visit with her had been here, at the party she'd hosted for the crew a month after their return. After that, there'd been a few messages. An official letter of recommendation from her supporting his promotion. But that was it. He couldn't even remember the last time he thought about her until Harry had informed him that she was taking a leave of absence from Starfleet. Normally, such gossip would have piqued his interest. But these days, he had other things on his mind.

When he'd nodded at Harry's news with a vacant stare, the younger man had regarded him softly.

Harry was the only one from Voyager who looked at him that way now. The rumor of his separation from B'Elanna had spread about a month ago, the implication being an affair. No one even thought twice before assuming that Tom was the one who had cheated.

He could still see the look Chakotay gave him two weeks earlier, when he'd run into him at Headquarters. The Commander was there for a meeting and Tom had come to petition for personal leave. The expression on Chakotay's face had been telling. An expression of sadness and disdain. The faintest trace of satisfaction that, in the end, he'd been right about the other man.

He hadn't turned from the older man in discomfort or else anger. Instead, he'd borne the look as though it was his rightful burden.

Now, he wondered if she would have the same look when she saw him. They'd never been expressly close. At least, not exactly. But he'd always liked her, trusted her. And he suspected she'd felt the same way. Until he'd let her down.

Walking back the way he came, he cursed himself for his previous impulse. He didn't know where he should go, but coming here, to Indiana, was a mistake.

Before he could make it ten meters, her voice found him.

"Tom?"

His name rang out clearly behind him, some distance away.

He froze, but didn't turn around.

"Tom Paris."

This time it wasn't a question, but a command. He turned reluctantly, his eyes doubtful beneath his hat.

As Janeway closed the distance between them, he watched her.

She was bundled under an absurd amount of layers, a green scarf around her neck and a black hat similar to his own on her head. She moved with confidence. As though she never entertained the doubt for a second that she might slip and fall.

"Tom Paris," she said again, reaching him.

Her face was chapped and red. He could see immediately that she'd been outside for quite awhile. Still, she looked content.

Her eyes, mercifully, were free of judgment.

"It's good to see," she said crossing her arms and tucking her hands beneath them.

"I was just. . ."

His voice faltered as she looked at him with a familiar expression. Understanding and affection. Resolve.

"Coming to the house," she finished for him, turning back the way she'd come.

He followed her without comment, the sound of their boots on the frozen surface the only noise.

"I really wish you could see Indiana when it's not buried under half a meter of snow."

She made the remark when they were almost to the house. It could have been a throw away comment, meant to fill the silence. But something about the way she said it told Tom that she was being sincere. It was March now, and the last time he'd visited it had been December. Both times, the landscape that stretched out before him was cold and desolate. Try as he might, he couldn't imagine Kathryn Janeway growing up here.

When they made it up to the porch, she didn't move toward the door.

Lights were on in the front room and he suspected her mother was milling about. Gretchen Janeway was very different from her daughter, but one thing they had in common, Tom had noted, was their energy level.

She sat on the wooden bench that lined the deck, her head about a meter from one of the house's windows. He sat next to her.

It was warmer here. The heat and the light from the house bathed them, and they both sat still, looking out a the frozen plain in front of them.

"I'm on leave," he said finally, when the silence threatened to engulf them.

"Me, too."

He knew she was trying to put him at ease. He had, of course, known that she was on leave. That was how he'd known to look for her in Indiana.

"Harry told me." He paused, stretching his legs out in front of him. "It's why I came to find you."

She turned her head to look at him, her eyes searching his face. He didn't turn to regard her or else school his features.

His comment could have meant that he was here to check on her. Concerned that she'd left Starfleet and everything she'd dedicated her life to. But really, the news had somehow struck a chord with him, hearing that she was no longer filling her life with uniforms and protocols; toiling patiently at the resurrection of a Federation that had sunk as deep into the moral shadows as it had into destruction during the war.

Finding whatever she was looking for, she turned away from him. Perceptibly, she relaxed against the wood behind her.

"I'm sorry about B'Elanna. Her affair."

Her words caught him off guard and he looked at her dubiously. As though to indicate that she'd gotten the facts wrong.

"How do you know it wasn't me who cheated?"

She met his eyes, the ghost of a smirk on her face.

"Between the two of us, Tom, we have a great deal of vices." She looked forward again. "Lack of fidelity isn't one of them."

He sighed. His only confirmation of her statement.

She was right, of course. While she would have given an every millimeter of her body, her soul, for her ship, he would have given everything he had for B'Elanna. He would have given up his job designing ships, moved to wherever she wanted. He would have sunk himself slowly into oblivion if only to erase the man she'd met when she visited family on the Klingon homeworld. The man she'd seen again and again under the pretext of showing their child her heritage. A man, Tom suspected, she didn't even love.

"I don't suppose there's a chance. . .?"

He shook his head, knowing what she was trying to ask. If there was any chance left for his marriage. Anything left from his previous life.

"Maybe if it had just been once."

She shut her eyes at his words, emotions vying for prominence on her face. He saw it out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing. Her anger and sadness, however veiled, were too much a reflection of his own fresh pain two months earlier.

When he'd learned the truth, he'd wanted, desperately, to believe that it was an isolated lapse. He would have been able to move past it if it had been. Or, at least, curling up every night with doubt and dread between them in their bed, he would have tried.

His desperation had been in vain.

"The worst part is, I'm not even all that angry now."

His words weren't filtered anymore. He wasn't sure why, but he was openly voicing inner truths. Despite that she was his former Captain and they never spoke like this before. Despite that he hadn't seen her in over a year. Despite that she'd once looked at him with affection and then with disappointment, finally looking at him with a mixture of both at the end of their journey.

"I want to be angry at her." He shook his head. "But so much of me thinks that this is my fault. That I'm the one to blame for what she did."

She looked at him, open curiosity playing across her face.

"What is it that you think you did?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know. But I must have done something."

He failed to examine this conviction immediately. He'd spent too many weeks believing that B'Elanna would have never have found someone else if she wasn't lacking something she needed with him. It didn't occur to him that she was lacking something within herself.

"Regrets are infinite in species, Tom. You can collect dozens. . . Thousands. . . But there will always be more waiting for you if you look hard enough."

Her words were a gentle warning to him. But something about her voice told him she wasn't speaking about his life at all.

He looked at her.

She wasn't as young as she was when he first met her. Worry lines worked their way across her forehead as well as around her mouth. Strands of grey inserted themselves among the auburn.

But it was still her. Grey eyes that could stop him in his tracks with only a look. Hair that he would recognize anywhere, no matter the length.

Instinctively, he reached for her hand, the thick material of their gloves slowing him as he laced his fingers between hers. He was surprised when she squeezed his hand in return.

In the renewed silence, he thought about his daughter. There wasn't just going to be a divorce, but a custody dispute. Even if it was all settled quickly, he was going to miss part of her childhood. The cold chill of the air around them found him then, settling deep beneath his breast bone. He thought of his own childhood and also his father, the Admiral.

Suddenly, his gaze fixed again on the woman beside him.

"Are you going back?"

Her lips pursed as she considered her reply.

"Probably."

"Are you staying here in the meantime?"

She looked at him as he asked, but then her eyes fluttered to the window next to him. Her face carried a dark expression. Her emotions were ones he was fluent in given his own relationship with his father.

"I suspect that would be a regrettable idea."

"So what now?"

He wasn't sure if he was asking her or himself.

"I was thinking about buying a house in Michigan." Her face was open, almost cheerful, before she added, "I don't particularly like living in San Francisco."

He seemed to grimace at the mention of Michigan, and she looked at him questioningly.

"More snow," he said with disdain.

She laughed, the sound echoing out around them. She patted him on the knee, her hand resting there after.

"I like the snow, Tom." She looked wistful. "It's what I grew up with. It's part of who I am."

He smiled at her fondly, but made no response. He was just happy to be sitting like this. Happy to be next to her with her hand on his knee.

"You might like the snow, too, if you give it a chance," she said, angling her body to him.

He looked at her, his face open and searching.

"I don't know about that."

Her face fell a bit and he smiled softly, his voice lowering.

"But I do know, snow or not, that I would like anyplace where I found you."

Gratitude and something else played across her features before she ducked her face, her forehead almost resting on his shoulder. He grasped her hand tighter, the small puffs of their breath mingling in the few centimeters between them.

"Well, it's settled then. You're helping me look for a house while you have time off to squander."

He shook his head, amazed that this woman never seemed to ask permission. She just barreled on ahead.

"In the meantime," she began, standing up, "come in the house and have some dinner."

He followed suit, standing as she moved to the door.

"Are you sure I'm not imposing?"

He felt abruptly sheepish, intruding on her family life.

"To tell you the truth," her voice was conspiratorial, "I could use some cover fire in there."

He looked at her with complete seriousness. He drew himself up, as though he was back on Voyager and they were about to go on some mission. As though she were telling him with her posture that they may not be coming back.

"Has she heard the story about your stint as Arachnia?" he asked, his mischievous voice a stark contrast to his posture. "Because I'm sure any mother would just love that one."

Her eyes narrowed at him and a small, gloved finger dug insistently into his chest.

"Don't you dare, Tom Paris. Or I'll make sure every CO you ever have calls you by your middle name."

He laughed, putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her through the door.

"Your threats do not deter me, Arachnia. For I am Captain Proton, savior of the galaxy."

His voice was cheesy and her expression put off. Something about it made him feel entirely at home. Safe, for the first time in a while.

Just inside the door, he hesitated, looking back one last time at the white expanse behind him.

Tom had never been a fan of winter. It was too cold, too unforgiving.

But he'd always consoled himself with the thought that after winter, came spring, pregnant with warmth and possibilities.

Smiling, he closed the door.


End file.
